Honkai Star Rail: Saving the World with a Mobile Game — Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Silver Wolf is Out of Options, Is Ash There?

Suspicion, debate, and outright conflict.

Across the galaxy, factions were currently tearing each other apart over a single video game. Some believed the lore was entirely real. After all, experts from the Interastral Peace Corporation had once publicly theorized that Sam, a long-lost weapon of mass destruction, might actually require manual operation from a pilot. But since the armor was classified as lost technology, there was no way to verify the claim, and hardly anyone took it seriously—Automatons were widely considered to be living beings in their own right.

The vast majority of the public dismissed the game as a highly elaborate fake, treating it as nothing more than an ambitious fan-work. It wasn’t exactly unmatched for fan-creations to completely butcher established lore. In the past, there had been viral dramas slandering Lady Herta as a closeted tsundere, and even a notoriously trashy romance novel titled The Overbearing Genius Falls in Love with Me, which ultimately forced the Herta Space Station’s legal department to intervene.

Compared to that, slandering a wanted criminal like Sam clearly wasn’t a big deal. The general consensus was that the developer was just bold and lucky, banking on the assumption that a notorious Stellaron Hunter wouldn’t bother suing for defamation.

However.

At this very moment, inside a certain secluded space station, the atmosphere was eerily quiet. It was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

Kafka sat on the sofa with her long legs elegantly crossed, her slender fingers lightly tapping the screen of her mobile phone as she fiddled with the game. Her expression was completely unreadable. Behind her, Blade stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locked onto the screen in Kafka’s hands. Even Sam, who had been called over from down the hall, glanced toward the device with a slight tilt of the armored head.

Tonight’s suffocating silence belonged exclusively to the Stellaron Hunters.

Unlike the rest of the universe, including the Astral Express, the Stellaron Hunters actually knew the truth. They were the parties involved. If the game’s developer only knew that Sam’s true identity was Firefly, that could theoretically still be explained through extreme intelligence gathering or datamining.

But the revelation that Stelle was once a member of the Stellaron Hunters? That was a buried secret even Stelle herself didn’t remember. With the deliberate, airtight protection of the Hunters, it was practically impossible for anyone in the galaxy to know about her past.

Yet, this highly classified history was currently being broadcast to the universe inside a ‘fan-made’ game.

The most critical implication was terrifying. Even if they couldn’t definitively conclude that the developer possessed precognitive abilities, it was obvious that he had the supreme authority to observe everything happening within Amphoreus. It was as if this wasn’t a pre-rendered game at all, but a live broadcast of Stelle’s current actions on the Aha Star.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Kafka shifted her gaze toward the door. The savior they had all been waiting for had finally arrived. But judging by the look on her face, the savior wasn’t bringing good news.

“Kafka, something big has really happened this time.”

Seeing the group gathered in the room, Silver Wolf didn’t even bother with a greeting. She slumped directly onto the sofa next to Kafka, looking thoroughly drained, and tossed a device resembling a modified game console onto the glass table.

Kafka took a slow breath. “What’s wrong? It seems things didn’t go smoothly, Silver Wolf.”

“More than just ‘not smoothly’.” Silver Wolf’s voice was weak, lacking its usual competitive edge. “Besides trying to hack directly into the game’s client, I also tried to trace the publishing address to breach their internal database.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “In theory, every game leaves a digital footprint. They hide future content, beta assets, or even metadata about the developer’s personal details.”

It was a universal rule of the interastral net. Beyond simple datamining, the vast majority of the classified information and unreleased leaks Silver Wolf had stolen in the past were obtained by brute-forcing the target’s database.

“But this time, there’s nothing.”

Her voice trailed off into the quiet room. Seeing Kafka’s rare look of genuine confusion, Silver Wolf rubbed her temples and rephrased. “To put it in simpler terms… I just don’t know what on earth this game was developed with.”

She leaned forward, her eyes dark. “No matter how powerful a firewall is, or even if data is intentionally hidden or wiped, it always leaves a trace. A shadow in the code. But I really found nothing.”

In other words, the game appeared out of thin air, entirely detached from the causality and timeline of their known digital universe.

“Is that so?” Kafka pursed her lips, a faint, dangerous smile touching her features. She seemed to have anticipated this outcome.

Silver Wolf sank deeper into the cushions. “I tried everything. I even hijacked a high-ranking IPC account, disguised my IP, and reported the game to the Games Department for severe interastral violations.”

She gestured vaguely at the ceiling. “I figured that since the game managed to get listed on the interastral platform, there had to be an agent’s backup file somewhere, even if it was locked behind confidential IPC clearance.”

“And guess what?”

Silver Wolf let out a dry, heart-wrenching laugh that bordered on despair. Kafka could easily tell her mental state was fraying. This defeat was somehow even more painful than the time Screwllum and Herta had teamed up to wipe out all seventy-six of her gaming accounts.

“The IPC was even more shocked than I was! They said they have absolutely no record of this game in their archives!” Silver Wolf looked completely dejected. “What I mean is, this game never even went through IPC review. I don’t know what kind of god-level exploit he used.”

She crossed her arms, glaring at the floor. “Basically, you can understand it as the developer casually hacking into the IPC’s core system, bypassing all security, and forcefully publishing the game on the platform himself.”

Kafka blinked. “?”

Silver Wolf also forgot to mention one minor detail: the IPC Games Department was likely in a state of total, apocalyptic panic right now.

“Anyway, I used an alt account to post a massive bounty on the dark web for doxxing the game’s author. I don’t know if the Galaxy Rangers will bite, but they might.” Silver Wolf let out a long breath. “But besides that… I admit it. I’m out of moves.”

Silver Wolf: (ᗜ ˰ ᗜ)

Having delivered her report, the hacker stared blankly up at the ceiling and fell completely silent.

For a long moment, no one else in the room moved. Silver Wolf wasn’t all-powerful, but as a top-tier hacker, her failing to find a single trace was unmatched. Even when she couldn’t outmaneuver Herta and Screwllum, she at least knew how she was being blocked.

Kafka didn’t quite know how to comfort the defeated gamer. But compared to Silver Wolf’s bruised ego, there was someone else in the room who required far more attention.

She turned her gaze to the towering mechanical armor on the other side of the room, her smile somewhat constrained. “Aren’t you going to share your thoughts, Sam? After all, compared to the rest of us, you’re the real victim here, right?”

The room fell silent as they stared at the Automaton for two seconds.

Sam slowly shook her head, the mechanical voice modulator carrying a surprisingly calm tone. “I don’t really hate this feeling. Or rather… it’s a brand-new experience.”

To be known across the stars as Firefly, rather than the ruthless weapon Sam.

It really was quite novel.

“However,” she continued, a hint of genuine curiosity bleeding into her tone, “since we want to find the other party, why not just contact him directly?”

Blade scoffed quietly, while Silver Wolf just stared.

“Additionally, if I’m not mistaken, since the other party did something of this magnitude, it’s highly likely that we aren’t the only faction looking for him right now.”

This statement left Silver Wolf entirely speechless.

Contact him directly? How were they supposed to contact him directly? Was she suggesting they just send a polite direct message to his interastral developer account?!

But what Silver Wolf absolutely didn’t expect was that Firefly was already preparing to do exactly that.

A few moments later, an anonymous account sent a private message across the network.

[Hello, I’m a loyal fan of the game “Honkai: Star Rail.” I wanted to ask when the producer will hold a fan meeting? I’d like to pay my respects.]

Not long after this message was sent out into the digital void, a sudden pop-up appeared on Ash’s mobile phone screen.

[Ding-dong!]

Ash opened the notification, his brow furrowing slightly.

A premium communication account?

He had specifically set his direct messages to ‘do not disturb’ to avoid the flood of players. Ordinary interastral accounts physically couldn’t message him privately. While it wasn’t the first time someone with high-level clearance had bypassed his filters, Ash hesitated, wondering whether he should even bother replying.

Right at that moment, another ‘ding-dong’ chimed, and a chat window popped up. The profile picture was a soft illustration of a girl holding a glowing firefly.

[Firefly: Is Ash there? I need your help!]

Ash paused, his thumb hovering over the screen.

A very bad premonition slowly began to rise in his chest. With a sudden sense of trepidation, he tapped the screen to load the second image the user ‘Firefly’ had just sent him.

Ash stared at the screen. “¿”